There was none. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. She went about the gory business of disposing of the bodies, cutting them up with a large butcher knife and packing the light dry pieces of their bloodless remains in a double ply garbage bag, pieces that looked like overcooked, ruined meat. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment.
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